*'তোৰ চকুৰ চাউনিত মই বিচাৰ

He sat at a small cafe in Pan Bazar, the scent of old books and wet asphalt filling the air. Across the room sat Priyanka, her eyes reflecting the grey-blue of the river during a storm. They had met during the Ambubachi Mela, lost in a sea of saffron robes and rhythmic chants, and since then, their souls had been tethered by an unspoken thread of —a unique, peerless connection.